


(1)

by demigodscum



Series: xyz [1]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Even POV, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Idealization, playlist included
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigodscum/pseuds/demigodscum
Summary: (1) Even thinks real love ends in tragedy.





	1. Mad World

**Author's Note:**

> Mandatory long first A/N to explain certain important things:
> 
> (Yes, this is IMPORTANT)
> 
> Disclaimer One: all SKAM-original things are obviously not mine, and I obviously earn zero cents from this, so yeah. Don't sue me.
> 
> Disclaimer Two: I have never so much as crossed the Atlantic, and I profusely apologize in advance to anyone well-acquainted with Norway who might cringe at something here. I do admit to being an enthusiastic researcher, but alas. Mistakes will be made. On this note, I want to take the opportunity to thank skamskada for their wonderful [Tiny Guide to Oslo and Norwegian Stuff for SKAM Writers](https://skamskada.tumblr.com/post/157944408668/skamguideforficwriters) , which helped me a lot and which you can find on their Tumblr.
> 
> Disclaimer Three: I do not have bipolar. I am a Psych student, and I have close experiences with mental health issues, and I have done an overwhelming amount of research, but I do not have bipolar, nor am I anywhere close to being a certified expert or anything of the sort. I am doing my utmost best at writing Even's disorder as accurately as possible. I'm kind of banking on the fact that, as with any other illness, particularly mental ones, bipolar looks different on each individual, and I am simply trying to write my version of one. Also, though bipolar isn't, feelings are universal. Still, if anyone is particularly bothered by my portrayal of something, please kindly let me know what and why, and I'll see what I can do about it. If you are wondering why I'm writing from Even's POV at all, consider it an attempt at empathy and attacking stigmas around mental health. If you have more questions still, leave a comment.
> 
> General Note One: overall, this series will be pretty heavy on feelings and mental health and potentially triggering stuff, and this first story more so by virtue of being Even's POV. Please please please pay attention to the tags. I'll leave warnings at the end of the more intense chapters if anyone wants to check them out, but beware. If you feel unsure about continuing or what is in store for the future of this series, leave an ask on my Tumblr. If at any point you feel overwhelmed while reading this, please stop. At least for five minutes. Give yourself a breather. If you constantly feel overwhelmed by the story because you can relate or it's close to triggering (I hope not full out) or you are going through something similar and feel like you need to talk about it with someone, you are more than welcome to leave an ask on my Tumblr (or message, though I'm not confident about how that works heh). Otherwise, here is a [link to an article](https://lifehacker.com/top-10-free-and-affordable-mental-health-and-counseling-1788814933) that provides mental health care resources.
> 
> General Note Two: as you will see, each chapter of each story in this series comes with a song. These are quite important (or I wouldn't include them, honestly), so I recommend as much as possible listening to them at least once before reading each chapter if you don't like to listen to music while reading. You can also choose to ignore the music altogether, but well, that wouldn't be much fun in my opinion. I'll link a YouTube video to every song, and I'll be updating an Apple Music (update: and Spotify) playlists (links below) as chapters are released (so that I don't spoil the plot with the whole playlist published). I'm posting from US West Coast and hopefully most, if not all, links will work for everyone, but if you find anything faulty, let me know and I'll try to find an alternative. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Not so important)
> 
> Thank you so so so much to Val, my amazing beta. Muchas gracias. Tusen takk. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup. Eres un lindo lindo arcoiris. 
> 
> [Apple Music playlist](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)   
>  [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com)   
>  [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[MAD WORLD - TEARS FOR FEARS](https://youtu.be/3gFl2OXySs8)

In a lot of movies, the background to the story is a vibrant, sleepless city.

In this movie, it is a cold, silent one.

In a lot of movies, everything from dialogue to wardrobe to lighting is chosen carefully to portray exactly what the director wants.

In this movie, there is no director.

In a lot of movies, bad things serve a greater purpose of giving characters perspective and dimensionality.

In this movie, Even feels like he never stops spiraling out of control.

In this movie, Even has to improvise every word, every move.

  
—

  
Romance isn’t _funny_.

Romance, true, good romance, isn’t funny, and if he could just get the idiots in his group to _understand_ that, then maybe they could finally get around to writing the script.

Romance is agonizing, better portrayed as a suspense thriller.

It starts well enough, but there are those little details around the edges of the screen that give you a bad vibe. You can’t tell what they are, but the feeling grows as the characters become closer to one another, as they seem to get better despite the odds. And then, when every nerve in your being is screaming _danger danger dangerdangerdanger_ , it all explodes and breaks down in a flurry of pain and hurt and fear, and you know you were right all along to think there was something wrong with the whole thing.

He can see it all easily playing out in his mind, but his group doesn’t _get_ _it._

His group doesn’t get it and he is two seconds away from walking out on them because they must be idiots, they really must, how can they not _see it_?

A romantic comedy, honestly. It’s so absurdly cliché and fake that he wants to puke all over the notepad they’ve been brainstorming on.

He’s been adamantly arguing his point for at least an hour now. He’s brought up Romeo and Juliet’s story about a thousand times as the epitome of epic, suspenseful romance (“The two mains end up _dead_! How is that _not_ thriller-fitting?”), but his group keeps shooting him weird looks and saying that is anything _but_ suspenseful. They go on and on about drama and comedies and _As You Like It_ , but he honestly doesn’t give a single fuck.

They don’t _understand_.

They don’t, so he’s going to write the script on his own.

It takes him more than two seconds, but he stands up in the middle of a tangent about maybe color tones or _Love Actually_ , and by the time the group realizes what he’s doing, he’s out the door and planning the first scene in his mind.

~

Naturally, Isak doesn’t understand either.

He listens and nods and _hmm_ ’s, but his brow is furrowed slightly and he is distracted by Even’s hair. He complains and complains and rants but Isak is only half paying attention and does he not _care_? He needs to make a good short film so he can pass so he can qualify for the final exam so he can get an A in his favorite class of the semester, but none of that is going to happen if his group continues to be obtuse.

It’s also not going to happen if his boyfriend doesn’t help him devise a way to get the group to see how much greater his idea is than theirs.

Isak keeps on petting him, so he just stands up from the bed and goes to sit on the bathroom floor with a notebook and pencil.

Clearly, he’s on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What's your favorite movie?](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com)


	2. I Don't Know Why I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the last day of my spring break, so here's another chapter. Also, _wow_. Thank you so very much to everyone who read, left kudos, commented, subscribed and even the one soul who bookmarked this already. You guys made me super happy on my birthday. Thank you thank you.
> 
> [Apple Music Playlist](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)   
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[I DON’T KNOW WHY I LOVE YOU - THE HOUSE OF LOVE](https://youtu.be/zmJhzlBJXmU)

Whatever Hollywood says, living with the man of your dreams isn’t always a dream come true. 

Sure, Isak is so beautiful in the mornings, sitting on their little table with the white wall behind him and the sunlight streaming in through the window on his left, that sometimes he has to rush on his walk to campus because he stares too much at him and takes too long finishing his breakfast. And yeah, Isak is the softest thing to cuddle with, pliant and moldable like a human-sized stuffed animal. 

But he’s also incredibly grumpy before going to school, and he insists on wearing layers most of the time, so the bed gets too warm and he has to resist kicking off the duvet. 

Most of the time, Isak is funny and makes him smile and believe in happiness, but right now, he’s been playing FIFA for an hour while Even tries to do homework and he is so close to throwing his pen at the TV screen that he decides to trade his binder for his laptop.

Except now he’s maybe kind of smashing the keyboard, but he just _doesn’t care_. 

The script he’s been working on for his class is a mess that even he can’t fully follow. The ideas are all swimming in his head, yet he can’t seem to grasp the words to write them down.

There is ivory and gold, and then the kind of white so bright that it hurts.

There is the Sun, closer than it should be, and infinite vastness.

There is something creeping up a character’s back like an unseen spider.

There is movement and stillness, hot and cold, quiet and loud loud loud and a lot of screaming.

The open document on his computer is blank but for a single line of meaningless letters.

~

It’s a surprisingly clear day for November, so of course he feels like staring at the blue and white. 

He doesn’t think other people agree though because as soon as he starts to slip down into the pool, there is an eruption of noise and yells and various screeches and scrapes of wheels and wood. 

He walks up to the bottom of the weird hill-y thing and lays down, right in the middle of the space. The cement is hard and cold but definitely worth it for the improved view.

“Isak, come look at the clouds with me.”

“Even, what the hell are you doing? They’re going to run you over.”

“No, no, it’s okay. They can just skate around me. Come here.”

“Even, get up before someone throws their board at your head.”

“The bench has a terrible view of the sky, come here.”

“We can sit on the other side of the park, where there’s more sun. Just get up from there.”

“Do you think my eyes are as blue as the sky?”

“Dude, I think your eyes will be purple if you don’t get the fuck up right this second.”

“ _Hey_. Chill. He’s getting up, see?”

He is, but only because he wants to hit whoever threatened him. 

Except he isn’t sure who it was.

So he glares at every single one of them, including Isak, and makes sure to bump into Jonas on his way up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What's your favorite shade of blue?](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)


	3. Lithium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gracias, Val, por betear esto.
> 
> [Apple Music playlist](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)  
>    
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[LITHIUM - NIRVANA](https://youtu.be/sjn_pfSARPM)

The route he takes to and fro campus is not the easiest he could use, but he likes walking through Hasselhaugveien, where there are more trees than cars. Isak prefers Sognsveien because otherwise he gets confused with all the little side streets, but Isak obviously gets too confused about too many simple things.

The air is cold and sounds like the approaching winter and it tickles and soothes his itching skin where the fabric of his t-shirt doesn’t cover him.

It feels like he can breathe like he is alone without anyone patrolling him over his shoulder.

He walks and walks and walks and feels like the trees that he touches as he passes by understand him and share his solitude.

A girl sees him smoking on the ground underneath one and glances at the houses around them like maybe he shouldn’t be there, but he just glares through the haze and the smoke and silently dares her to say anything.

She goes away and he drops his head back and closes his eyes.

He thinks he might be late for something but he doesn’t remember what and he doesn’t care.

~

A drop of sweat rolls down from Isak’s collarbone

down

down

down

permeates the skin of his abdomen and gets lost, becomes a part of him.

He wants to bring it back out and lick it, make it become a part of himself.

~

“Do you want to go see that movie today? Since we didn’t last time,” Isak says, but Even honestly doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about, and if he did, he would probably not be on board with that plan, just like he isn’t now.

“I have to work on my film.” He does, but he isn’t planning to. Still, he gets up and gets ready to go out somewhere, _anywhere_.

“The romantic comedy one? For the audiovisual class?”

“I hate my group. I’m going to fail because of them.”

“I saw the script you left on the table. It looks good to me.”

“ _Reads_. You may see the paper, but you don’t _see_ the actual _storyline_. And I can’t believe I’m being forced to shoot a comedy.”

“I still don’t get what the big deal is. Like, isn’t _Beautiful Woman_ a comedy?”

“ _Pretty_ , not _Beautiful_. And that’s _Hollywood_. Do you honestly think in the real world a rich lawyer would fall in love with a sex worker?”

“Maybe. She’s kind of bad ass.”

“You’re so naïve.” He’s slamming drawers as he goes, discarding his sweatpants on the floor while Isak sits on the bed blinking at him like an injured puppy. As if he hadn’t complained this morning when Even had _accidentally_ woken him up.

“Well, I still think you should try to work out your differences with the group and make the best of it. I’m sure whatever the theme is, it can’t go _that_ bad if they have you.”

“Says an eighteen-year-old. Wait until you get to university.”

“It’s only one year.”

“People are alive one second and dead the next. A year makes a difference.”

“Okay.”

“I have to go.”

“Okay.”

He can breathe he can breathe he can breathe.

~

The hot person from his media history class is standing at the tram stop, looking perfectly cool and aloof. He wants to talk to them, wants to walk over and invite them for coffee at the shop close by to discuss maybe the perpetuation of patriarchy through media institutions or perhaps how long it takes them to take their jeans off if they’re so tight.

They look up, catch him staring, raise a single eyebrow.

He starts to move, but his phone rings.

By the time he’s done cancelling the call, they’re gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's the last movie you saw?


	4. #1 Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 1600 words to write for philosophy by tomorrow, but here ya go.
> 
> Takk, Val! <3 And thank you everyone for reading and kudo-ing and commenting <3
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/) (come talk to me! Spur my procrastination!)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> **Chapter warnings:** sexual content.
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[#1 CRUSH - GARBAGE](https://youtu.be/-f1BKC4Efdg)

They’re on their way back home, sitting at the back of the tram. There are people all around them, immersed in their own bubble but still _there_. Somewhere, there’s a kid being loud and a parent trying to calm them down.

He leans over _just a little_ , barely enough for his nose to skim a wayward curl of Isak’s hair.

“How fast would you try to stop me if I tried to ride you on this tram?”

Isak nearly drops the phone he’s been fiddling with, turns red, and looks around nervously.

“ _Huh_?”

“You’re so hot I would keep you inside me forever if I could.”

Isak just stares at him, mouth slightly agape, pupils dilated.

It makes Even want to put a finger in between his lips, but he manages to contain himself.

~

He has lost count of how many times Isak has sighed by now, but he thinks it might be around nine.

“Even, you _have_ to stop looking at me like that.”

“What happened to there not being a point to studying here if I don’t stare?”

“That was a joke. Also, last year I had _mock_ exams, now I have real ones, and I really need to study hard.”

“The only thing you need to do hard is me.”

“Jesus Christ, what is it with you? Are you trying to torture me?”

“Do you want me to? Would you like that? I’d make it _so good_.”

“Later.”

“So you _do_ want me to hurt you?”

“What the fuck? No. No no no. Later we can maybe have sex, if you let me study.”

He stays silent after that. Or, he stops speaking, but soon he’s panting from rubbing himself through his boxers, and Isak groans and hits his head against the tabletop once he sees what Even is doing.

~

There is red and purple and maroon.

Everything he touches is soft soft soft and it makes him pull tighter bite harder go faster.

There is pain and sweat and bliss.

“Isak.”

“Hmmm.”

“ _Isak_.”

There is one and two and one.

They might be moving too much or he might be on fire, either one is possible.

He wants there to be one but there are still two so he needs to grab better get closer go deeper.

“Isak Isak Isak.”

It will be over soon but he’s not done he’s not ready to let go so he slows slows slows down until Isak is whining and fussing and asking for more.

“Isak.”

But he continues to go slow, takes his time, makes sure that they merge into one and the same, an extension of the other.

“Even, come on, please.”

“Isak… Isak Isak.”

He wants to open him up and crawl inside and never ever leave always stay warm and secure, safe and sound.

They might have gone on for five minutes or he might be dead and burning in hell, either one is possible.

There is only Isak and Isak and Isak.

~

“Uhh, Even?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Um… about?”

“From now on, I’m going to make movies about blood, sperm, and tears.”

“You… what?”

“Are you seeing this? We need to do this. We can get a red lamp and I’ll figure out a way to hang my camera so it gets the angle right and we’ll make a film so hot it’ll just be porn.”

“Even, this has women.”

“You’re missing out. Women are beautiful. Soft. So _wet_ , Isak, fuck, you have no idea.”

“Stop.”

“Fuck me.”

“Not now.”

“Let me fuck you then.”

“Not now, Even. Can you stop the film? I need to study.”

“ _Fine_. Whatever. I’ll be in the shower. Feel free to come in and replace my fingers with your cock any time.”

“Jesus, Even.”

“All day every day if I could, Isak.”

~

“Isak Isak Isak.”

“I’m busy.”

“But _baby_.”

“Get off, Even. I need to finish this.”

He doesn’t listen though. He peppers kisses down Isak’s chest, sucks through his shirt, pulls down his sweatpants.

“Even, leave me alone. I don’t have time for this right now.”

“I only want you, Isak. Only you. Isak Isak Isak.”

He can’t breathe but it’s so good so good so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess the reference in this?


	5. Porcelain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends. Little PSA: the semester is beginning to wrap up, which means lots of studying and typing to do in the near future, which means even less time for fun things. I doubt I’ll be keeping the same weekend updating schedule until I’m done, but I promise I’m coming back. I just don’t have that many chapters ready for betaing anymore sooo… life sucks. 
> 
> Another lil thing: in case anyone is still wondering about the reference in the last chapter, here’s what I replied to a reader’s comment on it:
> 
> It's a movie called Love, by Argentinian director Gaspar Noé. The two references are when Even says he wants to make movies about (technically, it's "movies out of," but I have this headcanon that Even always misquotes) blood, sperm, and tears, and when he sort of describes the scene with the red light and stuff (which includes a two women, one man threesome).
> 
> Also, Val is amazing and reads these things even when it’s way later for her than it is for me. Also also, thank you for reading and all of your lovely feedback!
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/) (come talk to me if you wanna yell about Infinity War!)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[PORCELAIN - MOBY](https://youtu.be/aJjlYTElHig)

_One thousand eighty-four megapixels_

He’s at the top of a hill, looking over the city

His world is an explosion of technicolor: the prettiest butterfly and the brightest flower and the fastest hummingbird and he is all of them one at a time all of them all at the same time.

_Forty-eight frames_

He’s running up and down the roof of Operahuset, contemplating running over the ledge

His world is cacophony of sounds: the rushing of waves and the laughter of children and the silence of solitude and he is deafened by all of them but he has never heard better.

_Four thousand ninety-six megapixels_

He’s standing somewhere thinking about someone remembering something, but the specifics change by the second and he cannot be bothered to keep track of each of them

His world is a mayhem of sensations: the rustle of fabric and the lightness of breeze and the emptiness of loneliness and he is acutely hypersensitive and dully numb.

Someone finds him and someone tries to hug him and now there is too much yellow and he can’t stand it, he can’t, he needs to balance it out

_Sixty frames_

He’s standing in front of the water and the color reminds him of looking in the mirror. If he turns to his right, there is green, and it reminds him that there is someone holding his left hand. He should feel anchored, but instead he is a fish swimming through the water a bird soaring through the sky a worm moving through the earth

_Seventy-two frames_

Everyone else stays human

Everyone else stays behind everyone else is irritating everyone else even him

Him

Him

_He would count the seconds, but time means little when he is flyingflyingslipping_

He is everyone and no one everywhere and nowhere everything and nothing always waiting for him to come down

Never trying to bring him back down

He loves him even from afar even from deep down even from up high

He loves him he loves him he will hurt him

_Eighty-four frames_

He will hurt him

He will hurt him destroy him end them both he needs to get away

Needs to make him safe

Needs to disappear drink a vial of poison stab himself in the chest and never ever come back never ever hurt him again never ever

Everything around him shakes trembles quakes. It might be raining because there’s something wet somewhere but he doesn’t see the water he doesn’t see the skies crying.

He would weep with them, let them know he understands he feels it too feels the unbearable pressure of existence

Feels the storms the hurricanes the tornadoes the imminent threat of destruction

Isak really is so very beautiful so bright so perfect like he was sent straight from Heaven to show him everything he will ever want and will never have.

His world is a mess: the sunniest day and the bleakest cloud and the darkest night and he is in awe of the tragedy of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you watching SKAM Austin?


	6. Where Is My Mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK FROM THE UNDERWORLD. 
> 
> Hi, friends. It's been a month. You have my sincere apologies. I'm afraid this chapter is not very long (but I guess none of them have been so far), but it's here, at least. It's also not betaed (because Val also had exams and I'm impatient, so blame me). 
> 
> In other news, I finally created a Spotify playlist for this, so you'll find the link below (I'll also update the notes for previous chapters).
> 
> Also, while I was absent here, I cheated and wrote a super short thing for an ask on tumblr (if you're reading this, thanks again!), which you can find [here](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/post/173883162655/angst-15-even-and-isak) if you're interested (it's evak).
> 
> Thank you so very much for waiting and the wonderful comments from last chapter. I feel like I had a lot more to say, but I can't remember now. Hopefully, a new chapter will come soon!
> 
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)  
>    
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[WHERE IS MY MIND? - PIXIES](https://youtu.be/49FB9hhoO6c)

There is a hand squeezing the front part of his brain and a drumstick beating against it and maybe someone sticking a nail in each of his neurons.

Maybe he has a crown of thorns in between his soft tissue and skull. Maybe he’s on his way to a slow death to repent for all his sins.

Maybe he will be hung up for all the world to see, like the Jesus on Isak’s shirt, and maybe they will let him die slowly because it would be too much trouble to get him down.

He would reach in and pull out his brain himself if he thought it would be of any help.

~

It’s a little like floating adrift in the middle of the ocean. Everything he hears is muffled by the water and everything he feels is the lapping of the water and everything he sees is the lighter blue of the sky.

If he lets the current take him, he doesn’t see anything.

~

Isak hovers like a crow over him.

Like a vulture, waiting for the meat to die before attacking.

He wonders whether it would hurt if Isak were to eat him alive, or if it would just be comforting that Isak wanted him at all.

~

Usually, he sleeps.

Usually, he would have crashed by now.

This time, he draws.

This time, his head pounds and his vision is blurry and he is vibrating

every cell quaking within his body

and any minute now he will implode into dust and the wind will blow him away.

~

The ending comes to him in the middle of the night, all at once.

The spaces between the characters are wider but the shots are closer and it’s claustrophobic.

There is blood and tears and pain pouring down.

The lilacs and aquamarines turn into violets and navies.

There is screeching silence and fleeting paralysis and it’s all perfectly tragic and horrifyingly beautiful.

The spider still creeps up up up and it feels dauntingly impending

~

He is sugar and the water laps at him and he dissolves

mixes with the salt

mixes with the sand

and no one can see him.

~

His parents might be even worse than Isak.

He’s sick of them all, so he hides in the bathroom or under the duvet.

When Mikael shows up, he thinks he might vomit.

~

He stares at his reflection for a long time.

It’s the same person that faced him last week

and the week before that

and the week before that

and the month before that.

He stares at his reflection for too long, and he can’t recognize himself.

~

Something about more mixing and trying and the near future.

He doesn’t particularly care. Either Isak or his parents will shove the pills down his throat anyway.

~

The night is cold but not too much, and his breath clouds in front of him.

Isak steps up next to him, bundled up in sweaters because he loves to exaggerate, and stares at his bare arms because he also loves to judge.

He just turns back to the trees behind their building and thinks about running until he finds the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a favorite overplayed indie anthem?


	7. I Appear Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, a chapter more than 550 words, wow. Shout out to Val for betaing <3
> 
> **Chapter warnings:** suicide idealization, somewhat ableist language (self-deprecation?)
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)   
>  [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy (?) reading.

[I APPEAR MISSING - QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE](https://youtu.be/XvSUaCly0VQ)

It’s likely that Isak will dislike what he’s doing, but it’s for the better.

The stack of papers on the table is still somewhat tall. He needs to hurry if he wants it to be ready for when Isak comes back and Even is gone.

Cut, paste.

Cut, paste.

Cut, paste.

~

The Akerselva is as uninteresting as ever, but he’s always liked being around water.

He remembers escaping here during first and second year. Remembers Mikael finding him effortlessly because the side of Bakka facing the steps is all glass.

He can see the stupid tower atop the Filmweb offices that he hates because it interrupts the aesthetic of the otherwise horizontal landscape and because it makes him think about a future in which he studies media and ends up working at a desk rather than actually filming.

Maybe it’s the present now and not the future. Maybe he’s fucked himself over already.

A little ways to the right is the karaoke bar where he made a fool of himself trying to sing and where Isak later punched Mikael and had Elias punch him.

And then there’s the bridge.

It’s a stupid bridge, really, and it can’t be more than a few meters above the shallow, shallow water, but it always gave him ideas.

For a while, he’d tried to think about it as more of a walkway, but he always failed.

He always failed and the ideas always returned and more than a couple of times, Mikael had found him staring over the rail at the slow, slow current.

~

December is a field of ice that stretches so far out of his sight he can’t see the end.

~

He hops on and off trams and buses with no particular destination in mind.

He thinks about bridges and towers and cliffs and tries to buy a ticket to San Francisco but the stupid website doesn’t load well on his stupid phone so he drops it on the floor of the tram. Someone hands it back to him for whatever reason and his reflection on the screen is cracked and ugly.

He ponders going back to that statue thing he went to the other day and jumping off from there, but it would be too anticlimactic and un-cinematic to do it somewhere that isn’t noticeable or has no connection to the task.

He considers heading back home but the thought of seeing Isak, of seeing his inevitable reaction to what he did, is too painful and so he keeps wandering around, lost in his own head.

~

He curls up into a little ball under a tree and rocks back and forth

back and forth

back and forth to the rhythm of his brain.

~

It’s late, he thinks, but he isn’t sure how much and he doesn’t care.

What matters is that he was hoping Isak would be asleep.

He’s disappointed, as always.

Maybe Isak says something, maybe he doesn’t. Even isn’t paying much attention to his pulling and tugging of him. The walls are bare, which he thinks they weren’t when he’d left, but who the fuck knows. Maybe that was a week ago.

He’s staring at the ceiling now, somehow, and Isak is… talking. Quietly, so it might be to himself.

Maybe his own insanity is starting to rub off on him.

It only makes him more determined about what he needs to do.

He’s just so tired. Now that he’s flat on his back he can’t possibly get up again.

He’ll just rest right now. Just for a little bit.

And then he’ll be gone in the morning.

~

There is noise and noise and noise so much of it he wants to cry wants to curl up and scream except that would make it louder and he’s not sure he could handle that not sure he wouldn’t explode

There is so much noise that he trembles with the excruciating need to make it quiet.

A tram passes by and a child cries and a dog barks and there are hundreds and thousands and millions of hearts beating all around him and he can hear every single one and he just wants them all to stop, please, just for a moment

His fingers dig so hard into his eyes that his lids flash

neon green

_Sonja_

pitch black

_Mikael_

neon yellow

_Isak_

bright white

_Even?_

The tears build behind his sockets and against his cheekbones and his head might explode from the pressure

A car honks and he flinches.

_Loud loud loud loud so much noise_

So much noise outside, but it’s still nothing compared to the inside.

Inside, his head rages and rages and rages and he wilts and withers under the force of it and he is weak like an injured bird that can’t fly to safety.

_A bleeding heart_

Inside, there is a fragile version of him curled up on the floor, surrounded by a thousand versions of him screaming over each other.

_A room full of mirrors_

He can’t single out the voices, but it doesn’t matter. They all scream the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earth, air, fire, or water?


	8. Suicidal Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mean to spend this long without updating? No. Did it happen anyway? Apparently. Was it worth it? Not really; I'm super dissatisfied with this chapter, but oh well. Enough was enough, I guess. Sorry, friends. Shit happened. I know it feels like this story is going nowhere, but I promise it is; it just has to get worse before it gets better (and Even doesn't give us much outside information, does he?)
> 
> Thank you as always to Val and to all of you who have been patient and supportive, either silently or vocally.
> 
>  **Chapter warnings:** suicide idealization/contemplation (look at the chapter title).
> 
> Mein peeps, **suicide does not have to be the first option you consider when things are bad**. Please, if you (or someone you know and want to support) are having a hard time with x, y or z thing, even if it's just a really shitty day, talk to someone. Anyone. Please please please. Here is a post I reblogged a while ago listing a number of resources for multiple countries: [Suicide Prevention Hotlines and Chatroom](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/post/174703183140/suicide-prevention-hotlines-and-chatroom). Also, if you'd prefer to skip this chapter, go ahead. If you let me know, I'll give you a clean version of what's important.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy (?) reading.

[SUICIDAL THOUGHTS - THE NOTORIOUS B.I.G](https://youtu.be/rlb3IZ94CwE)

 

One, two, three, four

One, two, three, four

One, two, three, four

Back and forth

Back and forth

Back and

One switch, two switch, three switch. The kitchen is painfully bright and white compared to the mellow darkness of his room

~

He thinks death would be technicolor.

If he swallowed everything from the bathroom cabinet, he would see every color of the rainbow

He would soar up to another plane of existence where everything is pretty and nice and soft

where nothing hurts

where he feels in saturated colors and dreams in vibrant shades.

If he swallowed everything from the bathroom cabinet, he would be the brightest butterfly to never exist.

~

If he stabbed his chest

If he shot his head

If he slit his wrists

His heart would stop

His lungs would give up

His veins would bleed out

And he would die, and all would be well.

~

He thinks death would be slow.

If he drained the blood from his body, he would have the time to feel it washing over him

He would drift from goodbye to goodbye in his mind

from face to face

from apology to apology until the tears mixed with the red and he emptied out.

If he drained the blood from his body, he would slowly flow out of existence.

~

The floor below his bunk bed is an ocean

Pavement

A cliff

Concrete

A river

His legs swing over the edge, _one two_ , his shoulders lean forward, _one two_ , his hips slide a little, _one two_ ,

“Even?”

~

There are ants and spiders and beetles and more spiders and they all crawl up his body so he tries to get them off but they’re everywhere

in his chest

in his brain

in his veins

everywhere and no matter how hard he scratches, how red his skin turns, they keep crawling.

~

One pill, two pill, three pill

If he swallowed the bottle

~

Shiny shiny shiny.

Shiny but _soft._

Shiny but _harmless._

Isak curls his hand into his and takes it away

curls his hand around his plate and slides it away

curls his hand around his neck and squeezes

the air

away.

~

He thinks death would be quiet.

If he put a bullet through his brain, he would hear an explosion of sound

He would collapse into an aftershock of silence without a heartbeat

without a breath

without voices in his head that take turns screaming and whispering.

If he put a bullet through his brain, he would cease to be

and he would finally be at peace.

If he drank a vial of poison,

if he stabbed himself with a dragger,

if he left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a small pleasure you take from life?


	9. How to Disappear Completely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter has not been betaed, and I should probably wait a little longer to upload it, but here I am in all my glorious impulsiveness. Thank you to Val anyway because she's great. 
> 
> A small (small but also huge) pleasure I take from life is the feedback I receive from this story. Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read, subscribe, hit kudos, bookmark, and/or comment. I very much appreciate every single number that is added. The words, especially, I treasure close to my heart. 
> 
> (Does anyone want me to reply to my own questions? I guess it would only be fair, but I've just never thought anyone would care. I mostly leave them as a parting message (although it's wonderful when I do get a reply); they're fun to come up with).
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy (?) reading.

[HOW TO DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY - RADIOHEAD](https://youtu.be/nZq_jeYsbTs)

_Sixteen frames_

A caress by his side

The lapping of a wave

Nothing

~

He is so tired.

So so tired.

He just has to close his eyes.

Close his eyes and let the current carry him.

~

The smell of cooking

A flash of color

Nothing

~

He sleeps.

He wakes and there’s screaming

wakes and there’s light

wakes and remembers a cold night, a warm bed, a dull golden halo

wakes and it’s dark and he can’t see anything

but mostly he sleeps.

~

_Twenty-four frames per second_

Sunlight peeking through the curtains

Water running in the bathroom

Too much, so he closes his eyes a little longer.

~

He feels the echoes of whispers in his ear sometimes when his mind floats closer up to consciousness, but he must be hallucinating because he doesn’t hear anything.

~

The curtains are dark brown, the walls dark gray, the duvet dark blue.

The screams are pushing against the walls of his mind, trying to get in.

The whispers, though, slither in through the cracks.

They’re not much better.

~

Isak is a furnace next to him. He wants to push him away

push him out of the room

push him far enough away that _he_ can’t hurt him

far enough away that he can’t hurt _him_.

He isn’t sure which one of the two could hurt the other the most, but he’s also pretty sure he wouldn’t like the answer either way.

He’s too tired anyway, so he leaves Isak where he is and floats away himself instead.

~

He sees the ripples of fjord breeze on his hair sometimes when his mind floats closer up to consciousness, but he must be hallucinating because his eyes are closed.

~

Idly, he wonders what his soul would look like if they cut open his body. Gray, maybe. The exact midpoint between pure white and pitch black. An in-between color. Neither here nor there. Not alive, not dead, but asleep.

Isak would be such a bright yellow he would look blinding white, like the Sun.

He wishes he had the right eyesight to appreciate him, but it just burns too much.

~

He always begs to himself when he feels the mania start to come in.

_Please no please no please nononon pleasepleasepleasenonpleaselono_

He also begs to himself afterwards, but it’s different,

_Pleaseplease do it… please… you can do it… go on… please… this can’t go on…_

more persuasive, less anxious.

~

The water laps and licks and laps at him

healing

drowning

soothing

~

When he floats away, he visits some of Isak’s parallel universes. He sees himself in a casket, neon crosses all around it. Sees himself lying on a bench, frost covering what little of his face is visible from the hood of his puffy jacket. Sees himself floating away, trying to catch a glimpse of Isak’s face, but his back is turned towards him and he can’t tell whether he’s crying or not.

Isak’s shoulders never shake when he does.

He wonders whether Isak loves him at all.

~

An empty film reel, looping endlessly

The light flashes but nothing happens

~

In the middle of the night, in the middle of the ocean, in between the crevices that their bodies make when trying to mold against one another, he feels like maybe, just maybe, it might be worth it.

He only wishes he knew what “it” meant.

~

His lungs breathe and the tide recedes

His heart beats and the waves crash

His eyes open and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do you disappear to?


	10. Comfortably Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! Sorry it's been taking me so long to update. When I started the story, the playlist was pretty much set, but since then, I've made many changes to it. Now, I'm very unsure about the whole thing, and it takes me much longer to figure out what to write. Fun fact: I could probably write this whole story with only songs from The Wall.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and supporting. I was really excited to see the hits count reach 1k. 
> 
> I can never disappear as thoroughly as I'd like to, but I play hide and seek all the time (in the city, among words, in my mind, between sounds).
> 
> (It appears I'll be doing the answering now too).
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy (?) reading.

[COMFORTABLY NUMB - PINK FLOYD](https://youtu.be/x-xTttimcNk)

Something wrecks havoc behind his chest. Waves crash, a river flows, water boils, thunder hails, ice cracks.

Something wrecks havoc behind his chest, but he can’t pinpoint it, can’t find it, can’t see it, so it rages and rages and rages unstopped.

~

“Hi.”

The bones of his ribcage are crushed inwards. They crumble and crumble and crumble and turn to dust, flow into his bloodstream. His heart is open, flanked by his lungs, and he is weak weak weak.

Fragile.

Vulnerable.

“How are you feeling?”

He is open for attack, open for hurt, open for anything that might want to come at him, and he doesn’t know how to stitch himself back up together.

“I, um—your parents brought back some documents signed by your doctor. I need to log in to your school account to get your student and course numbers so I can fill out the postponed examination form. You’ll have to sign it later. That’s for the Media History class. For the other two, we need to email the Department of Media and Comm.”

His bones are gone and he is open and weak and fragile and vulnerable, and if he touches his chest, he can feel the soft tissue of his lungs waiting to be punctured. If he touches his chest and reaches just a little bit behind, he can feel the delicate muscle of his heart beating against his fingertips. If he touches his chest, he can feel the warm flow of his dusty blood ebbing out and creating a sea of red around him.

“Even?”

It’s dark as it comes out of his chest but gets lighter when it mingles with his tears.

“I don’t have your password. Your exams are soon. If I don’t do this on time, It’ll be harder later.”

So he’s open and fragile and broken, but he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fold the pieces of himself back inside.

He’s a bad paper origami version of himself, useless in the face of the tide.

~

He is his tears and his blood and nothing else, and both of them ebb slowly out of him, so he slowly disappears with each drop.

~

“Hi, honey.”

His mom smiles at him and runs her hand through his hair. It’s familiar, uncomfortably so, like he’s been here and done this before but it shouldn’t happen now.

“Hey.”

He looks up at the ceiling and it’s too close, closer than he’s used to, closer than he wants it to be.

“Isak is at school. He’ll be back at fifteen. I brought you some soup.”

There are stripes of light brown in front of his mother’s face, and he doesn’t understand where they’re coming from.

“Even? Can you eat just a little, please? It’s been too long.”

He tries sitting up, manages to go about halfway. The ceiling is closer still.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom first? Your father is not here, but I think I can help you down.”

The word resonates in his head, and he thinks his mom is wrong, thinks there is no way he can go lower than this.

“Even? Do you feel comfortable going down the ladder?”

He doesn’t feel comfortable doing _anything_ , going _anywhere_.

“Alright, well, have some food, please?”

It could be soup, it could be water. He doesn’t really register the flavor.

~

The jagged bone dust that flows in his blood scrapes the inner walls of his veins and it _hurts_ in a mildly satisfactory way, like scratching an itch.

~

The puzzle pieces don’t quite fit in his mind, so he sets about rearranging them.

He finds the ladder his mother mentioned and climbs down it.

He finds a couple of bags packed full near a closet covered in drawings and cutouts.

He finds a living room past the door, finds a stark white kitchen with small potted plants on the window sill, finds an entrance with too many jackets and a green door.

Finds that he can slip just a little bit deeper down below.

~

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

“How do you think?”

“I’m glad you’ve rested. Do you need anything? I could help you take a shower if you wanted.”

“Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you… _home_?”

“Because you’re here.”

It might be him projecting, it might be him hallucinating, but Isak looks mustard yellow rather than Sun white. His hair is limp over his forehead, his eyes are shadowed, his shoulders sag inwards.

Isak looks like a dying star.

Even closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see him.

~

Air air air he needs air but he can’t _breathe he can’t breathe he can’t_

_~_

He tries to crawl out but nothing around him is solid so he can’t get a grip to pull himself up.

~

The water is cold so cold but there’s something warm around him.

He thinks it might be the blood.

~

_Twenty-five frames per second_

**Mikael**

_let me know when youre up for a visit and ill bring you some couscous. Get some rest until then. The boys say hi_

_they dont want to bombard you w texts_

_holler if you need us_

 

**Magnus**

_hey even_

_isak told us_

_hope u feel better soon_

_minute for minute or whtever u guys say_

_< 3 <3 <3_

 

**Elisa**

_Hi. Are you alright? Haven’t seen you in class in a while. You’re not dropping are you? I think the professor liked you best. Anyway let me know if you want my notes_

 

**Jonas**

_Hey dude. Isak explained you’re going through a rough one. Take it easy, it’ll be over soon. Peacenluv_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is your favorite (unusual) comfort food?


	11. Head Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An even longer chapter filled with a ridiculous amount of dialogue (read: 99%). It had to happen, sorry. At least there's development? Plot? I agonized over this chapter since before I even posted the last one. 
> 
> Fun fact: it was originally set to Fell on Black Days (same band, same album), but the conversations got too long so I changed the song. This one is still shorter than my reading time, but well, it's long _er_.
> 
> As always, thank you so very much for reading, commenting, and/or kudo-ing.
> 
> My favorite (unusual) comfort food is raw kibbeh, but I went vegan since the last time I had it, so I guess I'm sticking to pita and hummus.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[HEAD DOWN - SOUNDGARDEN](https://youtu.be/8JynAQy4ygo)

“When are you going back to the apartment?”

“I don’t know, whenever you want.”

“Today.”

“Today? Uh, I do think your mom would want us to stay at least tonight, but we could go back tomorrow.”

“You can go back today. My mom will be fine.”

“Eh, I’ll stay here for as long as you do.”

“What if I stay here too long?”

“What do you mean?”

“Go back, Isak.”

“Even, I don’t mind being here. Take your time. I’ll wait.”

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there to understand?”

“You can’t stay here.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Your parents are still mad at me, aren’t they?”

“What? Why would they be mad at you?”

“Because of what happened.”

“What happened?”

“You know. Not knowing. Not calling sooner. Not… handling it.”

“Isak, my parents aren’t mad at you. _I’m_ telling you to go.”

“What? Why?”

“You know. _Not handling it_.”

“I—oh.”

“I just meant that you don’t have to deal with this. It’s not your responsibility.”

“I don’t have to or you don’t want me to?”

“The first. Second. _Both_. Look, you have exams coming up—”

“So do you.”

“—and— _I don’t_. I don’t, not for a month, or did you forget about filling those forms? You have a life outside of this, outside of me. You don’t have to ignore it for my sake.”

“You have a life too.”

“This _is_ my life. This is the _center_ of my life. This is _all_ my life will _ever_ be.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re so naïve.”

“I just want to help you.”

“Then _go_.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“I left you once before, Even. I’m not doing it again.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Good.”

~

The chair he’s in is cold

“How are you feeling?”

and the air around him is cold

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

and the floor beneath his feet is cold

“Whoever asks you must know what you’re going through and surely cares a great deal. Don’t you think it’s a logical question to ask?”

and the ocean thrashing inside him is cold

“Even? Do _you_ know what you’re going through?”

and the hoodie he’s wearing is not enough to keep him warm.

“I’ve done this before.”

“Not this, not quite. Not according to your history, and not according to how you’re dealing with it.”

“Are you saying I’m not up to standard?”

“I’m saying you look shaken up, and you’re being brash when that’s not usual for you.”

“Have you considered it’s the stupid party of pills you’re having me take?”

“Maybe. I’d like to help you find out. This is uncharted territory, and there are many variables that we have to examine before we can come up with a map. Why don’t we start with the most important one? Can you tell me what felt different about this episode?”

“Noise. Everything was loud, and… not in a good way. Not like when I’ve been manic before.”

“Where did the noise come from?”

“Everywhere.”

“What about inside? Your head?”

“Felt like it was gonna explode.”

“What did the noise sound or feel like?”

“Not good.”

“Well, why not? What was bad about it?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Even, I’m just trying to help you.”

“I don’t _need_ help.”

“Actually, you do.”

“Well, I don’t _want_ help.”

“Why not? Would you prefer to go blindly into the next episode? Because it’s going to come, Even. I wish it weren’t, but you and I both know there’s no stopping it.”

“ _Exactly_. It’s gonna come no matter what I do, so what’s the point. If I’m gonna suffer either way, I might as well go all out.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“Then how the hell is it gonna be?”

“You could control it as much as you can control the uncontrollable. Manage it, I suppose. You could be informed, and in turn inform those around you so they can support you.”

“My parents are gonna know anyway.”

“What about Isak?”

_IsakIsakIsakIsakIsakIsakIsakIsakIsakIsakIsak_

Isak is nowhere to be found and he doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad or how long it’s going to hurt.

“Even?”

“Isak is going to leave, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Why do think that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Can you see into the future?”

If he could, all he would see is neon blue crosses around a casket, or maybe snow falling on a bench. He would see people mourning and people pretending to mourn, and he would _see_. He would see, without anyone blinding him, without anyone there to make him close his eyes.

“I—I remember… a knife. I think it was just a butter knife, but Isak took it from me. And I remember staring at traffic. I’ve never done that.”

“Why do you think this time was different?”

The cold creeps deeper inside and the ocean threatens to drown him and he is _losing_

“Fuck, I don’t know, _you_ tell me.”

His fingers slip, his feet slip, his whole body is scraped and bruised and he _can’t_ , _he can’t_

“I believe you had a mixed episode.”

_Why does it not end why does it get worse when will it end_

“What does that even mean?”

“I think you already know.”

“I hate this.”

“Even, I know it’s not easy, but—”

“But nothing! You _don’t_ know. Nobody knows. Nobody understands. I’m not—I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. You have people who—”

“Didn’t you hear the part about nobody understanding?”

“Maybe your friends and family don’t have bipolar and can’t read your mind, but what do you think empathy is, Even?”

“Nobody wants to feel what I feel.”

 _I don’t want to feel what I feel_.

“Even, I can see how hard this is for you—for you and thousands of other patients—but bipolar is not your enemy. Fighting it is not going to get you anywhere.”

“I know. I’m trying to give up. I just don’t seem to get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is something you really like talking about?


	12. Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updating system is very irregular, I know. I've been on a writing streak this past week. I just noticed that at some point, I accidentally published the master Even playlist on AM, so if anyone has been looking at that... whoops. Impromptu sneak peak.
> 
> I feel like I should mention that Val, my beta, has been very busy with Life, so I’m flying half-blind here, with only my second-guessing and the occasional Do-you-like-this-or-this-sentence-best question to Discord pals.
> 
> I really, _really_ like talking about the multiverse: quantum mechanics, infinity, string theory, the mathematical universe, all that jazz.
> 
> For fenrirulven, who inadvertently called it in a comment some days ago. I hope there's a little beauty in this sorrow.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[SORROW - THE NATIONAL](https://youtu.be/fxWh5ivlBS0)

Double suicide, _a star-crossed love_

Incurable disease, _a love that will live forever_

Revengeful killing, _a glorious love_

He stares at Isak, refilling his pill case at the table, with his favorite shade of sunlight coming in through the window to his left, and wonders when their end will come.

~

He could be trembling from the cold, but any hotter and the water will scorch him.

~

The worst part is the helplessness.

It isn’t that bipolar is tiresome, or that it interrupts his normal schedule.

It isn’t that he is sick, or that sometimes he is suicidal.

It’s that every _is_ is permanent. Unavoidable. Infinite for as long as he lives.

It ebbs and flows, goes up and down and sideways, moves around.

But no matter what he does, what he is, he will never _not_ be these things. He will never not have this.

The worst part is the lack of choice.

~

There are oceans and rivers and lakes in between whatever he is now and who he thinks he sometimes is and he drowns in every single one.

~

_Thirty frames per second_

One time, when he was young and had first gotten the bunk bed he left at his parents’, he missed a step going down the staircase and fell so hard his skull cracked. He doesn’t truly recall how bad it hurt, but he remembers thinking that there was something wrong and it definitely had to do with his head.

There’s still something wrong, and he knows, on some level, it’s because of his head, but that’s not what it feels like.

What is wrong is everything. It is all-encompassing and overwhelming and staggering and he doesn’t really know what to do with it.

It aches and he wants it to stop but it’s also sadly comforting, like a farewell-forever hug, and it scares him that he doesn’t know how to let go.

He holds on and on and on, or maybe it holds on to him.

Either way, it thrums through his veins and makes him hurt so much he is blinded, so much he forgets where it came from or when it started.

~

He feels like a leaf shaking in the wind, about to fall from the tree, but he’s strangely still within Isak’s arms and he doesn’t understand.

~

“What can I do?”

His mania is one current,

“Nothing.”

his depression is another,

“ _Please_. Please don’t push me away, please let me—”

and he is the vortex that creates when the two meet,

“Don’t, Isak. Just don’t.”

the maelstrom of clashing and whirring water that appears below the surface where nobody can see him.

~

He finds little rocks and small islands of sand as he swims along.

He gets to catch his breath for a bit, but he knows the tide will go up again and the respite will end. He knows the moon cycle will restart and it will get worse before maybe, if he survives, it gets any better.

Sometimes he hates these moments of clarity.

~

One of them is crying. Maybe both. He can’t figure it out because it still hurts.

~

An empty film reel, looping endlessly

The light flashes on and off

~

Outside of the window, the trees sway gently in the winter breeze. Somewhere beyond that lie his dreams, curled up on the ground and left to die.

Outside of the window, the trees stand tall against the winter breeze. Somewhere beyond that, life goes on without him.

Outside of the window, the trees sing quietly with the winter breeze. Somewhere beyond that beat millions of hearts, steady and fearless under the promise of death.

This side of the window, the silence crawls up the walls. Somewhere in a sea of blue fabric, he tries to stitch the pieces of himself back together.

He tries, and he fails.

Tries and fails.

Trial and error.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you see outside of your window?


	13. Talk Show Host

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of weeks ago, I posted on Tumblr a bit of **meta explanation** about this story. If anyone is interested, you can find it [here](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/post/178164842865/for-readers-of-1).
> 
> Fun fact: the version of this song that SKAM uses is the album version of it. _Romeo + Juliet_ uses a remix by Nellee Hooper (linked below).
> 
> Not that anyone cares, but I saw The National live this week and my life will never be the same. They didn't play Sorrow, but they did play another song that will feature at some point in this series. Kudos if you guess.
> 
> Outside of my window, I first see a tree, then the city airport, then the bay behind it.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)   
>  [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[TALK SHOW HOST (NELLEE HOOPER REMIX) - RADIOHEAD](https://youtu.be/YRInbJJJkK8)

He avoids mirrors, glass, the cracked surface of his phone screen. He avoids anything reflective because if he sees himself, he sees death

Neon blue crosses

Falling snow

Dark red knives

He can’t avoid the feel of it, of the cold creeping in, of blood ebbing out, of the whirlpool within him dragging him down slowly, of his soul floating up above his reach.

He can’t avoid the feel of it, so he avoids the sight.

~

He tries not to move so as to not make any noise. Shrinks back, into himself, tries to disappear. Tries to stay afloat, but only just so.

The air around him cools down, presses in, constricts. It crushes his bones, makes them creak, splinter. It weighs down on his shoulders, his back, whatever is left of his soul. He tries to push back but he is so tired, _so very tired_ , so he hides deeper within the sea of blue that cocoons him.

The edge of his vision is lined in bright, bright blue-white and dull yellow-white, and the edge of his hearing is filled with the echo of each pressed key

_tap tap tap_

_tap_

_tap tap_

_tap tap tap_

He rustles the fabric a little as he shifts to curl up tighter, but he doubts anyone would care anyway.

~

More:

more pills,

more trying,

more appointments,

more waiting,

more options,

_less life_.

~

“So, what does this mean?”

“It means this will kill me some day.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“ _Even_.”

“Fine. What do you want me to say? I’m not being dramatic, I’m being realistic. More episodes, more and more severe episodes. More _mixed_ episodes, more and more severe mixed episodes. You know that, and you know what mixed episodes mean. I’ve seen you do the research.”

“It doesn’t have to end that way. That’s what treatments are for.”

“If I don’t kill myself first, chances are my body gives up at some point from trying to process so many pills.”

“Even, you’re not the first person to go through this. Not everyone with bipolar dies because of it.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve done the research.”

~

His parents look out of place in the bleak mess of their apartment. He figures they’re there to check on him, figures they’re there to stack the fridge high with food containers, figures they’re there to check the laundry is done.

He doesn’t know what to tell them.

His mom, _soft and familiar_ , coos and pats at him.

His dad, _tall and familiar_ , putters around and stares at the wall art.

Isak is nowhere to be found.

Isak left for another universe sometime in the middle of this mess and hasn’t come back.

~

He occupies exactly twelve squares.

Curled up and in, crouching, with his head hiding within the curve of his shoulders, he occupies exactly twelve squares and remembers a time when they both, _together_ , tried to occupy more space than they had.

Whatever they had then, whatever air they both breathed, he’s murdered, silently, in its sleep, and now he watches it swirl down the drain in the same aching shade of yellow that once resided among the rungs of his ribcage.

Everything around him is composed of hard edges and right angles but he is shaped in the same delicate curve that tears are cried in, the same intangible curl that shadows whisper in.

He is weak weak weak, evaporating along with the water around him like a ghost, but he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to become real again.

~

The spiders crawl across the screen

The ants crawl across the screen

The worms crawl across the screen

It’s a mess it’s a mess it’s a _mess_ it doesn’t _work, doesn’t mean anything,_ doesn’t show the way his heart hasn’t stopped bleeding, doesn’t show the way his skin has begun turning blue, doesn’t show the insurmountable rift he’s staring across

~

Sometimes the ocean thrashes and the waves break violently and no part of him is safe.

Sometimes the fjord sleeps and the current moves sluggishly and every part of him is tame.

Sometimes his heartbeat speeds up and his breathing speeds up and his brain speeds up but his eyes droop closed and he can’t feel a single part of himself.

~

He thinks of the other Evens of the multiverse, thinks of every permutation of himself that doesn’t repeat second year, that doesn’t fail his first semester of university, that meets Isak as a fully functioning human being.

Thinks of _I’ve decided that my life is better without mentally ill people around me_ and how numb his skin felt sitting in a police station.

Thinks _alonealonealone_ and feels the cold freeze him over just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is your favorite movie soundtrack?


	14. 3 Libras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two possible answers for last chapter's question. My favorite soundtrack is from _New Moon_ (yes, I do mean the sequel to _Twilight_ ), but my favorite score is that of _The Social Network_ , by the brilliant Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for continuing to indulge me in reading this.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)  
>    
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[3 LIBRAS - A PERFECT CIRCLE](https://youtu.be/uptFmUtB_zU)

Isak and he are in a pool. There are trees around it and a balcony above them.

He swims and Isak follows, dives and Isak follows, stops and Isak follows until he can feel warmth pressed against his back.

He turns around and leans in

and in

and in,

and Isak leans back, following him,

back until Even has him submerged

back

back until his body touches the ceramic floor.

He swims and Isak doesn’t follow

He wakes up and breathes in

and in

and in,

and Isak is still on his computer, sitting at the table,

and Even bleeds a little more,

hides a little more,

cries a little more,

shakes a little more,

dies a little more.

~

In the middle of the night, in the middle of the ocean, in between the crevices that their bodies make when trying to mold against one another, he whispers Isak’s name like a plea.

He only wishes he knew what he was asking for.

~

Nothing really happens.

The clock ticks forward and he stares at the wall.

“I’ll be back in the afternoon. I love you.”

The sun moves past and he stares at the ceiling.

“How was your day? I missed you.”

The clouds blow by and he stares at the pillow.

“Good night. I love you.”

The bed dips and he wonders if it’s true.

~

_green green green_

He used to see sky blue reflected on luminous green, but now he only sees forests, dark and desolate, far way and unreachable.

~

He tries out the words in the dark. Lets his tongue push out the _j_ , feels his lips smack softly around the _m_ , sees the _e_ get lost in the space that separates them.

He molds his mouth around the eight letters over and over and over again. Repeats them until they turn into a stream of nothing, until his hand inches forward without his consent, until his heart starts racing.

He rides the storm with a litany brushing against his teeth, clinging on to the two words, and he is all alone.

He never makes a sound, never gets them past the barrier of himself.

The water fills his lungs

_he can’t breathe_

and drowns his hope,

fills his lungs

_he can’t breathe_

and drowns his plea,

fills his lungs

_he can’t breathe_

and drowns him.

~

He wants to ask Isak why tears are salty. Whether that salt is the same salt as the other salts. If tears taste differently depending on how sad one is.

He wants to speak up

_reach out_

but Isak is so very far away and he is so very tired.

~

He watches himself float up

away

a dull gray vortex of pain that transcends universes in search of one where it can reside,

one where it can rage unstopped

alone

forever.

~

Sometimes, when Isak thinks he’s asleep, he tries to reach out to Even and… something. Touch his hair, maybe. Caress his cheek.

He never finds out though because he always turns away.

~

Every second of their laughter is a needle piercing his skin, drawing to the surface a drop of blood that rolls down his skin and stains the bed.

Every whispered word that floats out of the kitchen is a pair of claws digging into his lungs, squeezing the breath out of him and saturating the air with salt.

The light that streams in from the other room is blinding and overexposes his vision.

He knows what the frame is. He has the script lying somewhere, hiding among the crushed pieces of his insides, swimming below the floe that covers his heart. He knew what the scene was supposed to be, once, maybe a million oceans away, but he can’t recall his lines now.

He is rejected, put away, sent back, told to come another time, told that it _is_ _better_ _without mentally ill people_.

The scene changes:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

Two figures step inside…

A dam breaks open…

Everybody drowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Even tried to tell Isak?
> 
> (Or, if you want to go for it, what do you tell yourself when it's dark and no one is listening?)


	15. Ruiner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha I cheated because I'm not answering the first question from last chapter (yet). As for the second one: when it's dark and no one is listening, I tell myself that it's okay that I'm not home.
> 
> Have another weird (by this fic's standards) chapter.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)   
>  [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[RUINER - NOTHING,NOWHERE.](https://youtu.be/pXa48BPQu_4)

It’s strange, to have Mikael here. They’ve never been _here_. Here, with the knowledge of why he’s been absent, with the pressure to reach out without knowing how to.

It’s strange, and he wishes he could leave. Wishes Isak hadn’t opened the door, hadn’t randomly decided to go grocery shopping. Wishes Mikael hadn’t shown up without texting first, hadn’t brought a container full of couscous.

Wishes he didn’t have to _do this_ , this weird and uncomfortable dance of prolonging the inevitable.

“So, how’re you doing?”

Inane questions, formulaic speech. He doesn’t care for this, doesn’t care at all, doesn’t have the energy to _explain_ that he doesn’t have the energy to live but neither does he have the energy to die.

_I hate this, Mikael. I hate every second of it. I miss first year._

“Okay. Better.”

Inane questions, expected response.

“Have you figured out school stuff?”

“Isak’s been helping.”

“Oh, of course. He must be a huge support right now.”

_He makes it worse sometimes. I hate this, Mikael. I want to go back to first year._

“Hmm.”

“Everything alright?”

“I—we—yeah. Everything’s fine.”

_We never talk. Sonja was easier. I hate this, Mikael. I wish I had never made it past first year._

“Right.”

_Nothing is right. I hate this, Mikael._

“Remember when you had that talk with Elias over the summer?”

“What talk?”

“The one about drinking.”

“Oh. I thought we were alone.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I sort of overheard. Not intentionally. At first, anyway. Then I was actually interested in hearing.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to understand a little more about your bipolar. And I think it was very nice of you to open up like that and talk to him about it. We’ve kind of given up on it.”

_I’m going to die. I hate this, Mikael._

“Well, you’re all my friends, so.”

“I know. Look, the only one clean out of us is Yusef, but Elias is the worst. And we’ve all tried to get him to chill, but he always just goes back. But then you go and talk to him about how you understand and… _we_ understand because we’re on the same boat as him, but that’s exactly why he doesn’t pay attention to us. Because all we can talk to him about is the guilt of disrespecting our religion. But you found another thing to connect over.”

“I can’t drink either.”

_I hate this, Mikael. I didn’t hate anything in first year._

“Yeah. And it has more real consequences for you. I think that’s part of why Elias has a hard time abstaining. It’s harder for him to see what’s wrong with it. When you talked to him about understanding the feeling of wanting to take part in whatever is going on around you but knowing that you shouldn’t… I think that was very important for him. Like someone from outside, someone who didn’t have this big pressure of God upon them, finally validated his feelings.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. I just think it must be rough for you guys.”

_I just think you shouldn’t feel bad about being normal._

“See? That’s my point. You think it must be rough for us so you support us.”

“Right.”

_Nothing is right._

“Well, Even, we think it must be rough for you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you like most about your best friend?


	16. We Don't Deserve Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, I'm alive. Sorry this has taken so long. Confession: I'm scared to write the end of this story.
> 
> My best friend, both the Even and the Jonas to my Isak, is the most patient person I know.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[WE DON’T DESERVE LOVE - ARCADE FIRE](https://youtu.be/NiblaBqJjIg)

D F G A

The wires feel odd beneath his fingertips, and his muscles are slow to pluck at them.

D F G A

The notes come out wobbly and unsure, rusted, forceful. They form a barely-there melody that only partially fills the prevailing silence.

D F G A

He circles over it for a while, until the storm passes and his fingers stop feeling numb, until they can remember what they’re meant to be doing.

D F G A

He plays and breathes and at some point tastes something remarkably like hope, so he plays just a little longer.

D F G A

~

“What if I hurt him? During an episode.”

“Isak can take care of himself, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But he can’t take care of me.”

“Have you given him the chance?”

“I shouldn’t have to. _He_ shouldn’t have to.”

“Even, the very harsh reality is that you cannot do this alone. You _need_ someone there, on varying degrees depending on where you’re at in your cycles. That doesn’t mean you are unable to contribute to your own care, just that it is in your benefit, both mental and physical, to take advantage of the love that surrounds you.”

“Taking advantage of people is wrong.”

“You’re not doing it bad-intentioned, and you’re not taking anything that those people are unwilling to give.”

“How do you know?”

“Have you asked him?”

“Asked who about what?”

“Isak, what he’s willing to offer you.”

“I… it feels wrong to do that.”

“Do me a favor and try it.”

~

The apartment is flooded.

The apartment is sunken.

The apartment is drowning.

The ocean laughs and laughs and laughs.

 _He can’t breathe_.

~

Christmas is another patch of the same endless field of ice.

There’s a vague memory swimming through his head, of someone cutting his food for him, of someone being gentle.

Nobody cuts his food. Nobody is gentle.

Everybody treads on eggshells, on the shards of his soul that little the floor, on the snowflakes that rain down around them mockingly, like a broken promise, like something meant to be _good_ , but it just _burns_ , cuts through his skin and flays him open.

He wants to speak up, speak out, argue that it’s not Isak’s fault, that Even is older, Even is his own person, Even doesn’t need a handler.

He wants to speak up, speak out, but the waves roll and break against his ribs and his throat is choked up with a weak whimper that tries to protest that _Isak was supposed to notice, Isak was supposed to care_.

The bathroom is warm when he goes in.

He cries.

The bathroom is cold when he comes out.

~

_The ocean laughs_

He knows it hurts. He knows, somewhere within him not as far from his consciousness as he would like to admit, that he is fucking it up, that he is wrong wrong wrong.

That he will regret it, that he didn’t need to do that, that it is all his fault, only his fault, only his sin.

_and laughs_

He still says it.

It rips itself out of him, out of the most broken, most irreparable depths of him, down where the light doesn’t shine and nothing wholesome swims.

_and laughs_

Isak still gets up and leaves.

Alone alone alone.

_and he can’t breathe._

_~_

The ice thickens

The shadows disappear

He is alone alone alone

~

One, two, three, four

He moves closer, _just a little_ , just enough to get his attention

He leaves the room

He bleeds

One step, two step, three step

His hand creeps closer, _just a little_ , just enough to touch his

He crosses his arms

He bleeds

One, two, three, four

He moves closer, _just a little_ , just enough to meet in the middle

He doesn’t come to bed

He bleeds

~

The chlorine concentrates

The trees disappear

He is alone alone alone

~

He gives up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does your favorite sound feel like?


	17. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist, I'm _still_ alive.
> 
> My favorite sound feels like being a child.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)  
>    
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[MISSING - THE XX](https://youtu.be/3gKfXYQBLnQ)

One, two, three, four

Nothing

One ocean, two ocean, three ocean

No one

One, two, three, four

~

Blinding white.

He hates it.

Bleak, bland, blinding white and he hates every single pixel of it.

White, _good white_ , white speckled with colors, colored with life. It overflows the basket, spills onto the grey linoleum.

On the floor, scattered around him in a halo of saltwater, lie strips of his skin that he’s raked off with his nails, pieces of his heart that he’s torn off with his teeth.

He can’t pick them up.

They will drown him if he leaves them, but he hurts and he bleeds and if he crouches down to pick them up he will stain the floor.

If he stains the floor

So he hurts and he bleeds and he dies

_alone_.

~

The apartment is frozen.

The apartment is glacial.

The apartment is cold.

The wind howls and howls and howls.

_He can’t breathe_.

~

He stares at a reflection for a long time.

It’s not a person that faced him last week

or the week before that

or the week before that

or the month before that.

The bottom of the ocean, the swell of a wave. Pale sand blowing in the breeze and the shadow of an overcast day.

He stares at the reflection for a long time, and he can’t recognize who it is.

~

Everything disappears

He is alone alone alone

~

In the middle of the night, in the middle of the tundra, in between the space that their bodies leave when trying to float away from one another, he bleeds.

The blood is not warm enough to soothe his frostbitten skin.

~

The plant on the dresser is dead.

~

He is in a whirlpool,

at the center of a tornado,

the eye of the hurricane.

_He can’t see he can’t see he can’t see_.

~

Everyone disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who/what do you miss?


	18. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss my Even.
> 
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/xyz-1/pl.u-yZyVVaZIz3M758)  
> [Tumblr](http://demigodscum.tumblr.com/)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/y3bd2cwaigjvbwt5vxme020m8/playlist/5k1v0HH1CoB41EIlcunkXt?si=3Czedqr9R5CjulbAqQ7JRg)
> 
> Be kind, and happy reading.

[BROKEN (FEAT. GAVIN CLARK) - UNKLE](https://youtu.be/kLCnLIvdOcE)

It snows.

His vision is covered in white, covered in tears, covered in speckles of a past life, whispers of a future that could have been. Everything is white except for what is black, outlined and delineated and invisible. An absence. A hole.

Blindspots in his vision, black at the center, the darkest of greens at the edges.

Missing, gone.

An absence.

~

The plant on the dresser is dead.

He takes the pot with him. Hasselhaugveien, side street, not that tree, not that tree, not that

His phone against the bark. His hands tremble.

A hole. Black. He digs, he buries.

One tear, two tear, three tear.

He covers.

He takes the pot and his phone.

One time, two time, three time.

His hands dig. His hands bury. His hands cover.

One tear, two tear, three tear

~

A current that tries to be

To flow

It dries up

~

A touch, a caress.

He can’t look away from the video, but he knows if he did, if he looked down and to the left, he’d see two hands, intertwined like the opposing currents in a tornado. Two hands, two currents, one warmer than the other. One clean, one streaked with dirt.

It’s the only spot of warmth around him, in him.

He thinks if he looked down he would have to realize it’s not there. He would have to mourn. He would have to cry.

A touch, a caress, wishful thinking.

He doesn’t look down.

~

For every stroke forward he takes, the current pulls him three strokes back.

The air around him is heavy with salt, his face is never dry, and the cold has permeated the marrow of his bones.

He tries letting go, letting the current take him where it wants to.

It would be easiest, he thinks, to just _let_

_go_.

So he tries, but his arms keep moving in and out of the water like they can’t help it, like the need to swim is greater than the need to rest.

He doesn’t understand.

~

Two currents that try to meet

Try to clash

They freeze

~

It pulls him in one direction, pulls him in another, pulls him everywhere except where he wants to go. There’s no end in sight, just the endless field of ice, just the blood ebbing out, just the water drying up.

He is salt, rough and coarse.

He wants _before_ , wants _later_ , wants _nothing, none of this, nothing at all_.

_Everything_.

He _wants_ , but he bleeds and he dries and will never have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do you want to go?


End file.
